“We’d better see how much you remember,” Ashton advised as he gave her the reins. “The last thing I want is to see you hurt.”

Lenore complied with his request and tested the mare’s performance through a walk, trot, and canter, all within a wide circle between the house and tent. To her pleasure, both she and the mare seemed in capable order, and Ashton swung up onto his stallion, adding his approval. Much to the fretting concern of the two guards, she rode away from the house, leading Ashton down along the shore and away from their prying eyes.

Her spirits lifted to immeasurable heights as she enjoyed the outing, the mare, and the company of her escort. There were so many things she wanted to talk with Ashton about, and he seemed as anxious as she to discuss the details of her childbearing state, wanting to know when the babe was due and where the pregnancy might have begun.

“Before we left for New Orleans, I think,” she murmured, casting a wistful gaze in his direction. “You and Meghan are the only ones who know.”

“For heaven’s sake, don’t tell Malcolm,” Ashton warned. “At least, not while he’s in the house with you.” He hated to think what the other man might do to her. “You’d make me feel better about everything if you’d let me send him and his two buffoons away. You could stay in the house with your father if you wanted to, and I wouldn’t even ask you to allow me to move in…or press you to go home with me where you belong.”

Lenore tossed him another glance and laughed. “You’re already pressing me to do that.”

In roweling frustration Ashton settled back in the saddle. “All right! I admit it! And I try because I care!”

“Thank you,” she murmured with a gentle smile.

A muted groan came from him as her soft, grateful look went through him and stroked the strings of his heart. Was she aware of what she did to him when such loving tenderness was displayed in her face? “You turn me inside out, woman,” he complained with a helpless chuckle. “I am putty in your hands.”

Lenore shook her head negatively. “I don’t think so.” She glanced back over her shoulder, realizing they were now some distance from the house. “We’d better get back.” She giggled, relenting to the humor that set in when she remembered the two guards chafing as they watched her ride away. “I’m afraid if Malcolm gets home first, he may shoot his men.”

“Good riddance,” Ashton replied promptly.

“Oh, Ashton, you don’t mean that.” As he raised his brow in sharp disagreement, she burst into laughter again. “Perhaps I’m wrong.”

They had turned their mounts and were heading back when Ashton halted his horse by the edge of the water and swung down. Lenore reined in her mare and watched him in wonder as he strolled back along the wet sand where he had just passed. He paused and kicked the sand with his toe, then stooped quickly, grabbing up a tiny crustacean, which he brought back to her and presented in the palm of his hand.

“A flea crab,” he informed her, gently nudging the coin-sized creature with a finger.

“It looks frightened,” Lenore commented as the tiny thing clamped his legs close to his body.

“Aye, madam, that it is.” Ashton bent and brushed it from his hand, letting it go free on the sand again. Dusting his hands, he straightened and glanced up at her, then stilled as he found something in her eyes that he understood only too well: the same sort of longing he had experienced himself much too often of late. Half afraid to move, he lowered a hand to her thigh and waited while she searched his face. Slowly, very slowly she leaned down to him and touched her lips to his. It was sweet bliss in the afternoon, a heady nectar that stirred his senses…and his heart, a soft reawakening of all his love and fondness for her.

“While the cat’s away…!” The caustic shout came from behind them, and they hastily drew apart. Looking around, they saw Malcolm sneering at them from the back of his stallion a short distance away. He prodded the animal forward and, reining up, pushed it between Lenore’s mount and Ashton, not caring how roughly the steed advanced upon the man. Ashton stumbled back, avoiding the heavy hooves of the nervously prancing horse. Coming to a halt, he faced the other, who had placed himself very protectively before Lenore. The broad face was full of venomous hatred as he stared down at Ashton.

“I told you to forget about buying my wife a horse.” Malcolm’s eyes were sharply piercing as he bent a glare on Lenore, and his growl came through clenched teeth: “And I told you not to accept the gift.”

“I haven’t…yet!” she retorted tartly. “I’m just using the mare for a time.”

“Well, you may use her no more,” Malcolm snapped and flung out an arm toward the house. “Get home…now! I’ll deal with you later.”

“I’ll go, but only because I was going in that direction anyway.” Lifting her chin loftily, Lenore complied with his wishes and left at a leisurely canter.

Malcolm turned back upon Ashton with a raging glower. “I know you’d like to lay my wife down and have your pleasure with her, but if you ever do, I’ll rip out your heart and feed it to the fish.”

“You’re welcome to try,” Ashton returned crisply.

Malcolm sneered. “I’m sure my men will be anxious to help.”

“Do they do everything you say?” Ashton probed.

“Of course,” Malcolm boasted. “I’ve known them for some years now, and I have no question concerning their loyalty.”

“Then I’d like to know what one of them was doing working on my steamer a couple or so years back.”

Malcolm stared agape at the man on the ground. “When was that?”

Ashton raised a brow sharply. “I’ve been trying to remember the precise time, but I know without a doubt he was there at one time, working for me.”

Malcolm sneered. “Obviously he didn’t like you well enough to continue.”

“Or else he had other motives in mind for quitting.”

“Such as?”

Ashton shrugged. “I’m not quite sure yet. When I am, I’ll let you know.”

“Please do.” Malcolm’s smirk returned. “Until then, keep your damned horse and hands to yourself.”

Ashton smiled lazily. “As I said, Malcolm, you can’t keep her prisoner forever.”

The larger man thrust a hand inside his coat and, whipping out a pistol, promptly cocked the hammer. Ashton stumbled back a step, realizing he was completely defenseless against such an attack. At any moment he expected to feel the burning heat of a shot boring its way through his chest or head, and he could do naught but wait. Any attempt to assault the other would bring about the firing of the pistol that much sooner.

Malcolm enjoyed his power and savored it long and to its fullest as he waved the sights threateningly in front of the other. The hazel eyes showed concern, but as yet had not lifted one pleading look to him, and that really would have made his day. To have the high and haughty Mister Wingate groveling for mercy was his fondest wish.

“Well?” Ashton barked sharply. “Are you going to shoot me or not?”

“I’d love to,” Malcolm replied with a smug smile. “I really would love to.” He chuckled, relishing the moment a bit longer, then heaved a heavy sigh and raised the sights of the weapon from his opponent. “But I must save the shot for the mare.”

Chortling in glee, he spurred his horse forward and kicked him into a full-out run. Ashton ran to his stallion and, snatching up the dangling reins, leaped astride, then followed the other man in hot pursuit. It was a race, to be sure, and Malcolm knew how to get every last measure of speed from his horse. This was one thing he did well. Leaning forward, he slashed the crop against the stallion’s side. He chuckled deviously to himself, already savoring the idea of the bay mare lying dead in a pool of blood at Ashton’s feet. It would serve the man right for all that he had done.

Lost in his musings, Malcolm suffered a start when the thunderous pounding of hooves became louder, and he twisted, throwing a glance over his shoulder. He had been almost certain that it was his imagination, but he gaped in shock when he saw the Wingate man gaining on him…rapidly. With a savage curse, he slashed the crop repeatedly against his steed’s flanks, flinging droplets of blood out wide as he whipped it into a frenzy. Still, the other stallion reached out with its long legs, eating up the distance between them until horse and man drew alongside. Malcolm turned his head briefly and saw the other animal stretching out, and it seemed as if the steed did so for the sheer pleasure of the race. No whip marred his side, but he raced on because the challenge was there, and his heart pushed him to win.

Lenore glanced back as she heard the thunderous approach, and she saw Ashton raise his arm and motion for her to ride beyond the house.

“Get to the tent!” he shouted. “Go! Get that horse out of sight!”

“Stop her!” Malcolm bellowed the order to his men. “Stop her and that horse!”

Lenore did not know what was happening, but she trusted Ashton enough to obey him without question. She set the bay mare to a swifter flight, weaving around one man, who ran in front of her waving his arms as he tried to halt her or spook the horse. Past him, she got a little angry and charged lickety-split toward the other, who ran out to block her path. Seeing the oncoming approach of the charging steed, the man staggered back in some fear of being trampled. His eyes widened even more as the horse continued on the same course, and he suddenly realized that the lady was not going to swerve aside to miss him. She was going to run him down if he did not remove himself posthaste!

The man dove for safety, eating a lot of grass as he slid on the lawn, first on his face and then on his belly, and in the process scraping a lot of skin. Hickory was dancing up and down near the tent, gesturing for her to come quickly, and she came, pulling the mare to a skidding halt before the open door of the tent. The black man lifted her down and, grabbing the reins, led the mare inside. Lenore was wondering if she should follow when Ashton came charging toward her on his stallion. Malcolm was behind him, and as the first man slowed, Malcolm dove from his horse, across the other’s, and swept Ashton from the saddle. Lenore gasped and stumbled back as the pair fell to the ground at her feet. Malcolm landed on top and immediately used the advantage of his greater weight to pin Ashton down, clamping his thickly muscled legs over that one’s arms. Wedging a forearm beneath Ashton’s chin, Malcolm leaned hard on his throat as he slipped his other hand behind the dark head and began to apply a choking pressure, or one that would break his neck.